The Price of Suppression
by Ripper101
Summary: The focus is on Wesley and revolves around certain nasty habits that may be a direct result of that ohsopopular Watcher brutality we never actually hear about.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.  
  
Author's Note: Don't know when it's set, but I'm guessing a somewhat distant future of 'Angel' when Wolfram and Hart are no more. Let me know what you think of it as I'm not quite happy with it.  
  
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"Angel, we need to make sure that that vampire isn't in the neighborhood again," Wesley had said.  
  
It had been so easy. That one sentence hadn't meant that he'd wanted to be in a life-or-death situation. And yet, he'd sat in a chair with his wrists bound to the metal arms and his ankles bound to the metal legs and there'd been some sort of demon hovering over him, sniffing at him with it's snout.  
  
"Go away," he'd said wearily, his chest aching where he'd been force fed more energy to keep him conscious, "You're annoying." And then she'd come in and started.  
  
It had been four days before they'd gotten him out. Faith had been there. "Visiting," she'd choked. He'd heard her retching into the side of the street when the ambulance was loading him into its darkness. Only he hadn't been frightened, had he? He'd done that for four days and he was tired now. Besides, he's heard Angel say that the others would follow the ambulance to the hospital.  
  
Now, at the end of a week in hospital, you'd think he'd be ready to heal. But no, he was still sweating and craving and he knew that it was a bad sign.  
  
"Wesley, are you ok?" Fred asked, sitting next to him as he stared at the ceiling. She noticed that he did that a lot. The long, gaunt face turned to her with a smile.  
  
"Yes, I'm all right. My condition hasn't deteriorated since five minutes ago."  
  
The slim brunette blushed. "I didn't mean to pry."  
  
"You're not, Fred. I'm sorry; I don't mean to snap," he'd apologized, "It was just a joke."  
  
Angel was easier to deal with when he came in that evening. "What did the doctor say?"  
  
"Well, I'm not pregnant," Wesley said ironically. Angel had given him a half smile in return. "He told me I'd be out on Monday morning. My legs are still not responding properly though, so there are a few maybes there. As for the rest, the scars are healing and the broken arm is mending nicely."  
  
"What about the needle marks," Angel asked. "Did they find out what she injected into you?"  
  
"It was cocaine," he said casually.  
  
'Wow. So she shot coke into you?" Gunn asked.  
  
"This is a stupid question, but wouldn't it alleviate the pain a little?" Fred's scientific mind was at work again.  
  
Wesley shook his head. "No. It just changes it. Cocaine takes control away so there is no distancing. It hurts in a different way."  
  
"Oh," she said. There was silence after that, until Gunn told Wesley about their latest spat with the newly restored Wolfram and Hart. Wesley was genuinely amused to know that they had won that bout and laughed in all the right places.  
  
"A.I- 6; evil lawyers- 0," Fred said exultantly, earning her a smile.  
  
They left soon though, letting Wesley drift to sleep. Not that he drifted; it was a struggle to get any sleep at all. His skin itched and he broke out in a cold sweat every night, his heart going painfully fast. The needle tracks burnt. Quitting had not been this hard before. But he remembered the way his father had sat on his bed one day not long after the breakthrough and warned him never to touch it again.  
  
"You'll be hooked even worse if you go back now, boy," he'd said. It was galling to know that his father was always right. Oh yes, about many things. Things he would rather not even remember.  
  
But his hyperactive mind had already run to that dusty corner of his memories where he'd hidden that rainy night when his father had been drinking with his friends. How Wesley had been eleven and had come down to see what the raucous laughter was about. A nice, dirty, tousle headed boy he'd been.  
  
"Well, well, well," his father had boomed, spying him peeping round the doorway. "Look who's come to join us!"  
  
The drunken men had been frightening, the normally reserved masks slipping away with the stench of brandy and whiskey and gin. "What a pretty boy," one of them had crooned, almost falling on top of Wesley as he'd bent over him. And Wesley had foolishly run to his father for protection.  
  
"Enough!" he burst out, eyes slamming open as he came back to the present.  
  
"Wes, what's wrong?" Angel asked, coming to his side.  
  
"Angel? Why are you still here?" Wesley asked, his mind already in the gutter and not giving up.  
  
"Well, you were delirious for the first three days. And your heart was going too fast. The doctors were concerned that you would have a seizure or something. So I stayed in case something went wrong. After that, well, your heart hasn't slowed down, so I stay here in case."  
  
"Ah," Wesley said, swallowing the bile in his throat. "Maybe you should get a nurse. I believe I am about to be violently unwell."  
  
And Angel held the basin as he threw up, held his head when he no longer had the required presence of mind. It was Angel who yelled for a nurse when he started retching blood.  
  
"Sir, we'll have to ask you to move," the nurse had said, shoving Angel out of the way as she tended to the convulsing man on the bed. The vampire had walked stiffly out of the room, sitting down in his vacated chair with a heavy thump.  
  
Monday came and Gunn insisted Wesley stay with him. Fred and Gunn were no longer a source of envy to the Watcher, so he agreed, not wanting to go back to his own place and the loneliness of his own horrifying mind.  
  
"This is it," Gunn said, leading him into the room and dropping his bag of clothes next to the bed. The room was neat and cheerful and Wesley recognized a few intuitive touches. Like the pile of books on the bedside table that he always kept by his bed.  
  
"Thank you," he said awkwardly, and found himself with an armful of Fred who insisted that he was always welcome with them. He noticed Gunn looking a little uneasy.  
  
The two had left him alone to sleep, Fred reminding him that he still couldn't walk very far. He knew that. The bones in his legs had been splintered and then magically reset too many times in those four days. It was no wonder they didn't respond too well. He lay down and tried to go to sleep, willing the insects crawling over his skin to leave him in peace. He sighed when they didn't.  
  
"Wesley's not ok," Fred said, talking to Gunn. The African American put his arm around her from the back as she finished stirring whatever it was she had decided to make.  
  
"I know. I don't want to push him. We've had our differences before, you know. Having a fight right now might not be the best thing," Gunn reminded her.  
  
The sound of something being thrown did nothing to reassure the couple as they raced for Wesley's room. They found him sitting on the bed, shivering.  
  
"Come on, Wesley," Fred said, going to him soothingly, "Let's get you into bed."  
  
And she had tucked him in and stayed with him until his eyes stopped staring at something in the distance and shut.  
  
"Maybe we should get Angel to talk to him," Gunn said, shaking his head.  
  
"Angel, I appreciate this, but there's nothing much to tell," Wesley said. He looked at the concerned faces. "All of you have been most kind but I don't think that there's anything more to say."  
  
"We still don't know what she did to you," Gunn suggested carefully.  
  
"And you probably never will," Wesley said smoothly. "I appreciate this; really I do. But it's over and I'm healing. I'll be fine."  
  
"You screamed twice in your sleep yesterday," Fred put in, "And you went hyper again the day before. Now that's not something you'd do if you were okay."  
  
"I'm getting better, Fred. I'm already attending therapy with a trained psychologist, what more do you want me to do? It's been a month and the nightmares are getting better." That was a blatant lie, but he was willing to do that for peace.  
  
"So long as you know that we're here anytime you need us," Angel said, certain that they wouldn't get anything out of Wesley unless the man wanted to say something. The vampire was jittery when it came to torture; too many memories lay in that one word, not the least being what he did to Giles.  
  
And that's when it hit him; Giles would know what to say. But he shut up, not making that call. "I'll talk to Wesley about it if it doesn't get better soon," he told himself.  
  
So another month had gone by. Wesley had started going out on work again. He had even taken up weapons practice with Gunn.  
  
"Wes, man, are you sure?" Gunn asked.  
  
"Well, I need to do something to strengthen this arm," Wesley reminded him, hefting the sword.  
  
Ten minutes later the sword clattered to the floor. "Maybe I need more practice than I thought," he grimaced, rubbing the aching limb.  
  
"Oh, don't worry too much about it," Gunn said, wiping his forehead, "It takes time. I remember breaking my arm when I was a kid. Man, I couldn't play ball for four months!"  
  
Wesley smiled. "Maybe not the best thing to tell me, all things considered."  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"I know. Why don't I leave you and Fred alone for tonight," Wesley said, "I've been cutting into your fun too much lately."  
  
"You don't have to," Gunn said politely, his face brightening.  
  
Wesley laughed heartily at the hopeful look on his face. "It's not a problem. I meant to go out tonight anyway. Decided I have to do more than go straight to sleep."  
  
Fred had been most appreciative. "Thanks!" she'd said, typical Fred fashion. And Wesley knew what she meant. He wished he'd thought of it sooner.  
  
The bar had been quiet and respectable- a few couples sharing drinks, a parcel of men relaxing together without wives or girlfriends. Wesley wished he were one of them. Then he wished he wasn't. Finally he swallowed three shots of bourbon to get rid of the issue all together.  
  
The club was better. He ordered a beer more out of a need to hold something than from a need to drink. He was high enough from the bar. A woman caught his eye and he smiled back politely as she flashed him a brilliant grin.  
  
"What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" she teased, walking up to him and yelling over the music.  
  
Wesley raised his eyebrows. "As a pick up line, that is truly archaic," he yelled back. "Even men don't use it any more."  
  
She laughed, throwing back her head to show off a long golden neck. A manicured hand caressed the soft skin teasingly in a masquerade of coyness.  
  
"Well, if I'd known that you had a brain, I wouldn't have used it," she joked.  
  
"Next time, ask for the results of my latest CAT scan," he shot back.  
  
It had been the most pathetic excuse for a conversation than he'd ever had, but she was pretty and at least she filled the time.  
  
"So, you're English, right?" she asked. "How long you been in L.A?"  
  
"About five years, give or take," he'd replied. "I got transferred here."  
  
"Oh, really? What do you do?" she asked.  
  
"I'm sort of an academic," he told her vaguely. "I'm on a research and observation grant with a small private corporation in England."  
  
"Fascinating," she murmured, wide-eyed, "What do you research?"  
  
"Human life," he said shortly, clinching the subject. "What do you do?"  
  
"I work in sales," she said. He looked askance at her designer clothes and the pieces fell together.  
  
"You're a drug peddler," he'd said matter-of-factly, "What do you sell? Ecstasy?"  
  
"Excuse me, I resent that," she snapped, eyes nervous. He smiled at her. "And you have no right asking me such questions. You bloody English, always think you're so fucking superior to us. Well, guess what? We kicked your ass in the American Revolution and now we can buy and sell your fucking economy!"  
  
She turned on her heel and strode out. The woman looked to the right and left, a sharp eye out for cops and a protective hand on her bag. A man came up to her and whispered something in her ear. She grabbed his arm and dragged him down the street to a quiet side street.  
  
"Stay here," she ordered. She walked back up to see whether they had been followed and then went back to her client. "What do you need?"  
  
"Speed," he mumbled, looking around him with frightened eyes. She took the money first and counted it. Then handed over the tiny packet.  
  
"This your first time, mate?" Wesley asked quietly, emerging from the shadows.  
  
The boy muttered fearfully and took off with the precious drugs in his hand. The woman swung defiantly on Wesley, her hand fumbling in her bag. She pulled out a gun and pointed it at his chest. Surprisingly, he didn't feel in the least bit scared.  
  
"You won't shoot me," he said indifferently. "What do you have?"  
  
"You from Vice?" she spat contemptuously, "Or from Drugs?"  
  
"Neither," he answered, totally surprised, "If I was I would have arrested you. No, I'm interested in buying."  
  
The gun wavered. "What do you want?"  
  
"Depends," he said gently, "On what you have. Do you, for instance, have cocaine?"  
  
"I may," she said. "But it'll cost you."  
  
"How much?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders.  
  
A few minutes later and Wesley walked away with a stash of cocaine negligently thrown into his pocket. The woman gave him the name of a man in another club who could fit him out with the necessary paraphernalia.  
  
It turned into an expensive habit. He refused to buy the cheap kind. He had his supplier and stuck to her. When she told him that she'd give him extra if he threatened someone for her, he didn't flinch. When the 'someone' turned out to be a 6 foot 4 inch professional boxer, he'd been stumped.  
  
It hadn't been pretty. But it had been a set up, the boxer handing the woman a thousand bucks for the use of the body she'd sent his way. When Wesley finally managed to stand up, bruised and bloodied and sore, she silently handed him four hundred and sent him on with a slightly larger stash of coke.  
  
He only realized what he'd gotten himself into when she called his mobile for a second session.  
  
"Where did you get my number?" he asked, moving away from the others as if to shield them from this woman.  
  
"I have more information than you know," she said bitingly, "There's another job like the last one. You interested?"  
  
"Job?" he asked bewildered.  
  
"Client of mine wants someone willing to take a little punishment. You did very well last time."  
  
"Ah, the boxer," he remembered. His ribs had cracked and he'd had to get them taped. He thought about it. "Do I get the same as last time?"  
  
"Yes," she said. "Only this time, the punishment may use rope. So there'll be more."  
  
He agreed, face burning.  
  
His supplier had taken him shopping him and insisted on buying the kind of clothes that his clients liked- leather and silk. The only thing he didn't like was the eyeliner and the facial paint she insisted he wear.  
  
She'd been right though, it drove his clients wild.  
  
"Fuck," he swore one day, trying to sit in a position that didn't compromise his skin.  
  
Lately he'd included sex as well, rejoicing in the fact that he now paid only a nominal rate for his habit. He even got a cut of at least 15% out of every deal. And she only pimped him to the best.  
  
"Wesley, how's the therapy coming along?" Fred asked one evening, looking cheerfully at him with those large dark eyes.  
  
He looked up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Fine," he said in faked surprise, as if there was nothing unusual going on in his life.  
  
Angel looked at him and said nothing. In truth, the vampire was contemplating making that call to Giles. Whatever vibes and smells he was getting off the man were not good. Wesley almost always smelt of blood and sex, even when they didn't go out on work or patrol. And Wesley never mentioned dates.  
  
"Wesley, can I speak to you?" he asked on an evening when they didn't have a case pending. "It's pretty urgent."  
  
"Uh, actually, I have an appointment," Wesley said, calculating how long it would take him to get to his evening's booking without being late. He figured he could do the eyeliner in the car.  
  
"Oh," Angel agreed uneasily, "Right then. I- I'll talk to you later."  
  
"Right," Wesley said suspiciously, "I'll see you on Monday."  
  
The Englishman jogged to his car; the jittery need for a quick fix singing softly in his veins. He went home and changed. He'd gotten a new outfit for this occasion. It was his first big foray into group sessions. He'd even taken a month off in order to be at the top of his form. And these people were rich; they paid well.  
  
Angel watched as Wesley stopped outside the expensive hotel, watched as the man carefully applied his makeup and was met by someone in a suit at the door. This mystery guy handed him a black dog collar with silver studs in it. Wesley buckled it around his neck without a murmur and followed him inside.  
  
A quick snick of the key he'd had made by a contact on the streets and he was inside the car. Riffling under the seat, he came out with a carefully hidden wooden box. Inside lay a half- empty packet of cocaine and a syringe.  
  
Angel put them back carefully and got out, locking the car door behind him. The car was new, expensive. "So this is the treat you saved up for, Wes?" Angel sighed, running his eyes over it. "Looks like you're earning it fair and square."  
  
The vampire sat at his desk for the entire night, staring at the phone. Fred looked in and almost got her head bitten off. Gunn decided not to even try after that. Cordelia would have been the only one who would possibly have braved walking into that lion's den.  
  
The phone rang for a while before someone picked up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Angel sighed. "Giles? I need to speak to you about Wesley. I'm worried about him."  
  
The conversation had lasted over an hour, the man on the other end promising to come down. "But if he won't speak to any of you, it's less likely he'll speak to me."  
  
Early that morning, Gunn and Fred were running to the hospital because Angel had got a call saying Wesley was badly injured. It was the same hospital that he'd been taken to when he'd been tortured nine months ago.  
  
"Wesley Wyndham-Price," Gunn gasped, the nurse at the desk directing them to another nurse who led them to a waiting room.  
  
"Please wait here. The surgeon will come for you when he's finished."  
  
"Sur- surgeon?" Fred had squeaked, her face paling even more.  
  
The nurse looked surprised. "Yes. Didn't they tell you? Oh, it was a late diagnosis. There was internal hemorrhaging and Mr. Wyndham-Price has been taken into emergency surgery."  
  
Gunn caught Fred before she fell over. "Will he be okay?" the man asked frantically.  
  
"I'm sure he'll be fine. You shouldn't worry. The surgeon with him is really one of our best," the nurse said briskly, walking away to her next task.  
  
Four phone calls and three hours later, a surgeon had walked out to tell them that Wesley would be just fine. Fred had grabbed Gunn's arm very tight as they listened to the surgeon's reassurances.  
  
"What did he say?" Gunn asked, once the man had left.  
  
"Wesley was bleeding in several places. He- he's been hit repeated in the chest and stomach and one of his kidneys were ruptured. He also had a torn," here the woman stopped, going pink.  
  
"Got the message," Gunn said hastily. "And we can see him soon?"  
  
"When the nurse finishes settling him in. He'll be unconscious anyway. And when he wakes up they'll probably keep him on pain killers."  
  
Gunn nodded and called Angel. "He's out of surgery and the doc said he was fine. Angel, the doc said he'd been hit repeatedly in the chest and stomach. Whoever it is, this guy's got a lotta rage. Yeah, we'll be here at least until he's awake. Fred will probably stay with him right through."  
  
Angel contemplated telling Gunn about his plans. "Gunn, don't say anything to Wesley, but I've called Giles in. He's been through the torture thing before and he's not gotten himself into hospital yet. So I think maybe he'll be the best person to talk to Wesley."  
  
"Wait a minute. Got himself into hospital? Angel, the torture thing was nine months ago. You think Wesley hurt himself?" Gunn asked, astonished.  
  
"Gunn, he's been injured a lot lately, or haven't you noticed?" Angel said sarcastically. "The man's on a one-way flight to hell since that time and he's not telling us about it. That's why Giles is coming in. He should be in soon. If you happen to mention it to Wesley, which I hope to hell you don't, tell him Giles is stopping by after visiting Buffy in New York."  
  
"Okay," Gunn sighed.  
  
"How's Fred holding up?" Angel asked, his voice softening. "She okay?"  
  
"Yeah. She's fine," Gunn said, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend. "I'll call you back if there's anything new."  
  
"What's wrong?" Fred asked, eyes worried.  
  
"Angel thinks Wesley did this on purpose," Gunn told her, "Because of being tortured."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"I know. That's what I said! But it seems he's been injured a lot since then. And Angel should know; he can smell blood a mile away. He's called Giles in to help sort this out."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Honey, will you calm down? Here; sit and I'll get you some coffee," he soothed, going off in search of hot liquid refreshment.  
  
Fred sat lost in thought. She couldn't believe that Wesley would do something that extreme. He'd been tortured before by Faith and he hadn't been like this! She was stunned. And the doctor has spoken of smaller cuts on his body, like the assailant had used a knife on him. There'd been whip marks and bruises and these cuts and broken bones and Fred started to feel sick just thinking about it.  
  
When they were finally allowed in to see him, it was even worse. His face was fine, lying still against the pillows with his eyes closed. But his body was a mess of bandages and needles and wires to various machines. The visible skin on his torso was livid purple and black.  
  
Wesley was too doped up to even remember much about the night before or the present day. He opened his eyes, saw Gunn and Fred, made some appropriate whimper and then went back under that delicious darkness again.  
  
Waking up after that was not easy. It was two days before he was conscious. And he wished that he didn't have to be. His entire body throbbed and burned, like he had been flayed alive and then put on fire. And breathing was hard when his ribs felt too heavy. Worst of all, he was craving another hit.  
  
"Mmph," he moaned, slowly opening his eyes. The eyeliner had been discreetly removed once the police were called. He remembered hearing the sirens and looking at the unexpected street around him before passing out again.  
  
"How are you feeling, Wesley?" Fred asked as she placed a cool hand on his forehead.  
  
"Terrible," he croaked, "And thirsty."  
  
She gave him ice chips; placing them on his lips carefully so he wouldn't choke on them accidentally. The nurse and doctor came back in, shooing her out so that they could examine him. The muffled shriek was enough to make her stop her ears.  
  
The doctor came back out to say that Wesley had passed out and that he'd been given another sedative, which would probably help him sleep for a few more hours. "After that, he'll have to stick with painkillers," the doctor said gravely, "But we can't give him too many or he'll rely too heavily on them."  
  
Gunn and Giles finally got to the hospital, the older Englishman looking very tired but still alert. Fred thought he looked a lot like Wesley from a certain angle.  
  
"Hi," she said shyly, shaking the hand he offered. It was cool and dry: and very capable. "Wesley's asleep. He- he woke up for a bit but then they examined him. Whatever they did, it hurt so bad he passed out. They gave him another sedative too."  
  
Giles nodded. "They'll start easing him off them soon, I'd imagine. He'd run the risk of getting addicted otherwise."  
  
"That's what the doctor said," Fred agreed. "So now what?"  
  
"Now we wait. When Angel called me about this, I had no idea he'd put himself in hospital!" Giles said frustrated, "How long has this been going on?" Guilty expressions answered his question. "You don't know. I see."  
  
"Well, Wesley's good at not telling us what he doesn't want us to know. And he seemed fine. Sure, he was a bit jumpy, but he said he was making progress with his therapist."  
  
"Angel called his therapist. Wesley hasn't been going to him for months now," Giles said acidly, "Angel also found drugs and a syringe in his car. Does that ring any bells?"  
  
"Wesley's on drugs?" Gunn asked, shocked and stunned. "Man, I've seen druggies and he don't act like no druggie!"  
  
"That's because he's got a long history with cocaine. He was suspended twice for substance abuse. His father made him undergo what you'd call 'cold turkey' treatment both times. Why it didn't drive him mad, I have no idea," Giles finished dryly. "Do you mean to tell me that you know nothing of this?"  
  
"He never told us," Fred said wretchedly. She clenched on slim fist in a sudden rage. "When I get my hands on him, I'll- I'll do something drastic!"  
  
"Wesley has this habit of not letting us know until it's really necessary," Gunn said, his hand placed calmingly on Fred's shoulder. "I guess we just never thought to do a background check on ol' Wes."  
  
"Oh, it's not your fault; you weren't to know," Giles murmured distractedly. "He's always been addicted to something or other."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Gunn asked, wishing that English Watchers didn't talk in riddles. "He's addicted to addictions?"  
  
Fred stood up and peeped into the room. "Hey," she said delightedly, "You're awake."  
  
Gunn followed her but Giles stayed back. "Don't tell him I'm here," he instructed, "I'll see him tomorrow."  
  
Gunn nodded and walked through. He fixed his eyes on the man in the bed and felt his heart drop. The eyes were glazed, desperate.  
  
Wesley didn't even wait for the door to close before pleading. "Gunn, please! I need you to run an errand for me. If- if you could go to my car and get something for me."  
  
"Wesley, you shouldn't be talking," Gunn tried to tell him.  
  
"No, listen! In my car, below the front passenger seat, there's a wooden box. I would be grateful if you could go and get it. It's- it's not dangerous; just don't open it. It's full of- of magic, yes. And I need it to protect myself. Please, Gunn! Promise you'll bring it in with you," Wesley begged, almost off his head with the craving.  
  
Fred pushed him back onto the bed. "Wesley, stay still! You'll pull the drip out! Gunn, just get him the box," she whispered.  
  
"Next time I come, if I can" Gunn said evasively, "For now, tell me how you feel." He said brightly, looking innocently at Wesley.  
  
Two tears rolled down the thin, pale hollows of his face as Wesley turned his head and ignored them. He wouldn't talk and he gave no sign of listening to anything they had to say. The shivering and sweating was getting worse; his skin was itching as if armies of ants were crawling under it. He wanted to scream with the frustration of it all, but his throat was dry and felt like it would crack if he so much as opened his mouth.  
  
Gunn and Fred walked out soon, when Wesley gave no sign of having heard anyone. They went outside, ostensibly to get something to drink, more to collapse on the plastic seats outside and stare despairingly at each other.  
  
"What do we do?" Gunn asked, turning to Giles. "He won't talk to us, or even listen to anything we say. I bet we could parade a string of Las Vegas showgirls in there and he wouldn't talk about anything but his damn stash."  
  
Giles shook his head. "I honestly don't know what to do. How soon can Angel get here?"  
  
"He's probably on his way over now. Why?" Fred asked, "Is there a plan or something?"  
  
"No," Giles sighed, "But he's good with things like this. For some reason, his bumbling attempts at communication actually work in these situations!"  
  
"But he said you'd know what to do," Gunn pointed out in confusion.  
  
Fred snapped. "Listen. I don't know what you two blockheads are doing passing the buck from one to the other, but there is a man in there who seriously needs our help and unless we help him, and I mean now, he will probably end by slitting his own throat! So just get off your asses and do something!"  
  
She stomped off, headed for fresh air, only to bump into Angel. The vampire drew back as she glared at him and walked on without another word, her arms wrapped around herself.  
  
"What's gone wrong?" Angel asked, shooting a look at the slender figure in the distance.  
  
"She's upset, Angel. And I can't blame her. The English Patient here says that you're the man for the job and two days ago you said he was the only one who could help! Now you two make up your minds what you're doing about this or Fred and I'll handle it our way!" Gunn snapped, striding off in the opposite direction of his girlfriend.  
  
The Watcher and the vampire looked at each other. "Angel," Giles said. "Giles," Angel said back.  
  
"Such edifying conversation, I do declare," a snide voice chuckled from somewhere around the corner.  
  
Giles' eyes narrowed and then he dived, dragging a thin figure out. "Ethan, what the fuck are you doing here?" he growled, hand around the mystic's throat.  
  
Ethan held the bandaged hands up with an expressive grimace. "Ran foul of a Ravenboerck. I came to have the damage checked."  
  
Giles swung on Angel. "You never mentioned he was here as well," he bit out coldly.  
  
"Well, we never knew he was," Angel protested, "Is this Ethan Rayne?"  
  
"This," Ethan said balefully, "Is! And of course you never knew! Why ever would I spoil my fun by letting it get back to you? No, no, Ripper; I am much cleverer than that."  
  
"When did you escape the Initiative?" Giles asked, not letting go, but tightening his hold.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," a nurse yelled, running to him, "But would you please let go of that gentlemen? Or I'll call the police on you!"  
  
Giles reluctantly let go. "What's wrong with your hands?" came out before he could stop himself. Ethan's grin was painfully triumphant and Giles was tempted to break his jaw for it.  
  
"Told you, Ravenboerck! It procreates by leaving slime in soft, warm areas. That, unfortunately, seemed to include my hands. The slime doesn't come off so I burnt it off with acid; like the tattoo. The damage was too extreme for me to mend when I couldn't concentrate, so I came to get it bandaged until I summoned the strength to heal it myself," Ethan explained, waving the clumsily wrapped hands in the air.  
  
Giles sighed and pulled at him. "Come on, car park. Why I do this, I'll never know."  
  
"Because you love me?" Ethan laughed. The smack in the mouth took him by surprise, but it wasn't hard enough to drop him and Giles held him steady so that he didn't hurt his hands. "All right, Ripper, I can take a hint," the man grumbled.  
  
Angel followed them dumbly. "Uh, Giles?" he ventured. Two pairs of eyes turned back to look at him. "Uh, where are you going?"  
  
"Car," Giles said succinctly. When the vampire continued looking confused he sighed and elaborated. "I'm going to do a healing spell on his hands to restore the tissues and muscles to their original state. But I can't do that in the middle of a public hospital. So Gunn's car will have to do."  
  
"But you don't have the keys," Angel pointed out.  
  
Both men smiled evilly and walked on. Angel followed them. When they got to the car, Giles simply placed his finger over the lock and concentrated for a moment and the door clicked open.  
  
"Not bad," Ethan assessed, "You've been putting in some practice recently."  
  
"A few vanquishing spells and such. White magic only, so don't tease," Giles warned, sliding into the back with Ethan pushed in before him. The Watcher turned back to the vampire standing uneasily to the side. "Come on. If you'd like, you can sit in on this."  
  
"I just might," Angel surprised them by responding. Giles and magic was not a good combination. Angel remembered all too well the time when Eyghon had come back and Ethan had deflected it on to Buffy.  
  
But this time, Giles seemed in control. He held the mystic's palms back down and flat on top of his, his thumbs placed on the wrists. The bandages had been removed, showing ugly burns and charred flesh. Then the chant began; slow at first, it began to weave in complex variations as the healing effect started.  
  
After a time, Giles slumped backwards in his seat. The hands were as good as before. Ethan gave a resounding clap as he examined them. "Not bad at all, Ripper," he mused, "Took you long enough, though. And you almost lost your center twice."  
  
"Got there, didn't I?" Giles panted. "And don't say anything about not enough practice. I'm not interested."  
  
"So, tell me what the price is," Ethan said, leaning back and looking from Angel to Giles.  
  
"Nothing," Giles said shortly, "You can leave now."  
  
Ethan closed his eyes and tried the old link. It had been torn down a long time ago, but sometimes he could still sense things. "There's something worrying you, Ripper. What is it?"  
  
"It's none of your business," Angel said, vamping out.  
  
Ethan indicated his surrender and got out. He walked two paces, stopped, sniffed the air and then suddenly jumped. He whirled in different directions, as if following an elusive touch.  
  
"Giles, if this is some kind of game, it's exceedingly childish," he snarled.  
  
Giles looked at him in consternation. "I'm not doing anything! And why the hell are you going round like a dog at the smell of dinner?"  
  
Angel almost laughed. But the Son of Chaos looked ready to kill someone.  
  
"Rayne, what are you doing?" he called, getting out. A gust of wind whistled past him, sounding for all the world like a stake thrown his way. He yelped and jumped backwards. Another one came and he hit the ground and stayed there.  
  
"Now do you fucking get it?" Ethan hissed, jerking away from something.  
  
Then suddenly it just stopped. No more flying stakes and no more hissing tasers. Both vampire and mystic stood back up cautiously as Giles got out of the car.  
  
"It's gone," Angel said. "What was that?"  
  
"That was someone with a powerful amount of magic," Ethan said carefully, "Who doesn't in the least know how to use it. It seems very uncontrolled at the moment."  
  
"It was good enough for me," Angel shuddered, "Let's not ask him to practice, shall we?"  
  
Giles suddenly stiffened. Ethan, always so attuned to the moods of someone he had been close to, looked at him. Angel, vampiric sixth sense working on overdrive, turned too. Both looked apprehensively at him until they heard what he had.  
  
A woman was walking a few meters behind them, talking into her cell phone. She was pretty enough and dressed in the latest fashions, if Fred's magazines were to be believed. It was her conversation that caught their attention.  
  
"No, I can understand why you did it. Yes, when I called, the hospital said he would live. Listen, Mister, I give good service; my employee gave excellent service. Wesley may have passed out but what do you expect if some female lays into him with a stiletto? No, no more arguments. I want my money. Wesley will heal but I may just lose him and that's not good for me. I gave you my best and you fucked up! So pay me," she spat, snapping her phone shut and shoving it into her Prada bag with a muttered curse.  
  
"Excuse me," a male voice called out, "May I speak to you for a moment?"  
  
She looked over her shoulder. A dark, handsome man in black clothes was walking towards her, flanked by two older men who weren't bad looking either. She wondered warily if she'd ever sold to them.  
  
"We are sorry to bother you," one of the older men said. She noticed that he had pretty green eyes behind his glasses. She smiled enquiringly. "The thing is, we need some information."  
  
The smile went cold. She wasn't open to talking to those she didn't know; her business relied on that.  
  
Angel continued, picking up the thread smoothly. "It's not too hard, really. We wondered whether you knew a Wesley Wyndham-Price? He's tall, with dark hair and blue eyes; thin too. Oh, and he's British."  
  
She looked at each on of them in turn, genuinely amused. A giggle started in her throat working its way slowly up into a roar of laughter that brought tears to her eyes. She managed to get herself back in control under the three pairs of skeptical eyes.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" she asked wickedly.  
  
"Oh, we just heard plenty about him. That's all," the thin man on the hunk's right said with a malicious smirk on his wide mouth. "What does he do?"  
  
She shook her head. "It depends on what you want," she told them. "If you just want a body to take a little punishment, then that's fine. But he's willing to do pretty much everything- deals in ropes, handcuffs, whips, and paddles; even candle wax and knives. He's one of my best in fact."  
  
Angel's lips curled into a bloodless smile, almost a wolfish one from where she was standing. She noticed that the man on the left was looking at her in a way that promised violence. She decided that she didn't like it.  
  
"Look, I got to go meet someone. Let's make this quick, shall we? When and where?" she snapped nervously.  
  
"Where exactly is Wesley now?" Giles asked, green eyes glittering curiously. "We'd like to meet him first."  
  
"No. Cash in hand and I'll give him to you. Trust me, he does it all! He has to; he relies on me to keep him supplied, if you know what I mean," she reassured them.  
  
Two of the men inched closer; the third stayed back but looked no less dangerous.  
  
"Think we should tell her now, Ripper?" Angel asked, not taking his eyes off her.  
  
"We've not been completely honest with you," Giles spoke up softly, "You see, we were just in there visiting a friend ourselves. In fact, we think you know him. His name is Wesley Wyndham-Price and we were wondering how to kill the person selling him to the people who put him in there."  
  
Ethan gave his old friend full marks for scaring the living daylights out of a woman with the most unimaginative speech ever. And she was scared! She turned tail to run and found Angel had grabbed her, pulling her back with deadly ease.  
  
"Don't hurt her just yet, Angel," Giles said. "I think we just found a 'get well soon' present for Wesley."  
  
The woman squeaked, trying to fight the grip of steel on her arm. Her nail drew blood but Angel merely licked it off his skin with a gentle smile, relishing the look of horror on her face. Her mind scrabbled for a plan of escape- she could make a scene in the hospital.  
  
Giles stopped as if he had remembered something. "Oh, and one more thing." He stepped in close, hand caressing her throat with an intimate mastery over the sensitive area. "Don't make me break your neck."  
  
"Really, Ripper," Ethan said irritably, "What good is she dead?"  
  
The woman was willing to kiss the third man until 'Ripper' raised his eyebrows and smiled again, a rather more malicious one. He pulled out a flick knife. "You're right, Ethan. Just cuts then, small little rips in the fabric of her flesh. With maybe a slight taint of black magic to cause unpleasant hallucinations?"  
  
"B- Black magic? Who the hell are you guys?" she whimpered, eyes huge in a white face.  
  
"I wouldn't say a word if I were you, luv," the third man warned.  
  
The little procession started, collecting Gunn and Fred outside the room. The two looked at the four people with round eyes, used to weird scenes to the point where they simply followed and shut the door.  
  
"Wesley," Angel said, walking in, hoping that the man wasn't asleep. After all this drama, it would be just their luck that he was. Luckily, he wasn't.  
  
The woman stared at the shell of a human being on the bed, almost lost in the bruises, bandages and machines. "Dear God," she whispered, staring at his chest.  
  
Wesley pushed himself up, his pulse thrumming under his skin, eyes almost falling out of his head. "You! What are you doing here?" he gasped, eyes darting frantically to the others. The looks on their faces said it all and he lay back down, turning his face away.  
  
"Hello, Giles. Where you find this woman?" he asked, too tired to separate the greeting and the question. They meant the same to him. For his hero to walk in and find him like this was unthinkable. That the others would find out what he was was just as bad. But he couldn't bring himself to care any more.  
  
"Hello, Wesley," Giles said softly, "We found her on her way in. She was looking for you. She has another job for you, by the way."  
  
"Job? What job?" Gunn asked.  
  
"Uh, guys? Maybe you should wait outside," Angel suggested expressly.  
  
"Why? They should know, shouldn't they? They are friends, after all," Wesley said flatly. "Let them stay. I think I have a perverse- or is it perverted- pleasure in humiliation."  
  
"They made me talk," the woman began to spill, "they ganged up on me in the parking lot and threatened me if I didn't tell them everything. I swear, I didn't want to, Wesley. I was good to you. I tried to protect you, remember?"  
  
The man in the bed finally looked at her and laughed. It was weak but it still sent him into a coughing fit that almost drove him unconscious because his ribs couldn't stand the pressure. "Protect me? When? Before or after you hooked me up for my first job? I can believe they threatened you, but I won't lie to them."  
  
"Thank you," Fred said softly. She sat down next to him, touching the hand on the bed, refusing to notice that the wrist was broken. "Wesley, what are they talking about? We don't understand this."  
  
"Ask Angel, he seems to know," Wesley said, slipping his fingers into her small hand.  
  
"Wesley's on cocaine; you know that," Giles said. "Well, this is his supplier. Unfortunately, cocaine is also expensive."  
  
"Right, so she gave him another way out- she pimped him out to anyone who paid the right price. Because of his recent experiences with pain and torture, he can handle some rough punishment. And she pimps him to the best. So he gets a few extra bucks and his coke for a quarter of the price he'd normally pay. Right Wesley?" Angel finished, seeking confirmation.  
  
"In every respect," the man said indifferently, still staring at the wall.  
  
"Wesley, if you'd only said something," Fred murmured, squeezing the icy fingers, "We could have tried to help you."  
  
"I was burning up, Fred. For a month I tried and I almost went mad. Then I met her and I got her to sell me coke. Always did have a fondness for it. It sent me insane. I would have done anything to get a hit," Wesley said matter-of-factly. "How could I tell you that?"  
  
"Wesley, we're your friends," Angel told him, shoving the woman at Giles. "We want to be able to help you. You know, like you help us? Why is it always so hard for you to do that?"  
  
"You shouldn't have to. You don't know what I am," Wesley whispered.  
  
Giles took this opportunity to pull the woman out of the room. He pulled the knife out again and threw a quick look around. He licked the blade, cut his own arm and wet the blade in his blood, murmuring a long forgotten spell. Then he shoved the blade into her chest.  
  
Her eyes went wide and she made a gurgling sound. Suddenly, she just disappeared. Giles smiled jauntily, looked guilty for a moment and then went back inside. The others were still trying to coax the secrets out of Wesley.  
  
"All right, everyone. Out!" Giles said. "Ethan, you want to give me a hand, here, mate?"  
  
"What? Why?" Gunn demanded, looking spooked.  
  
"Well, if we want to pull this off, then Ethan and I are going to have to have peace and quiet. If you want to stay, by all means do so. Just keep out of the way."  
  
Angel settled the matter by aligning himself against the far wall; Gunn and Fred joined him a little warily, watching as the two Englishman stood on either side of the hospital bed. Each laid a hand upon Wesley and began to chant.  
  
Angel didn't recognize the chant, but he did recognize the language- French, surprisingly enough! He also discovered that Giles had a hideous French accent, which made him want to laugh. It wasn't so funny when Wesley simply disappeared out of the bed.  
  
Gunn opened his mouth to say something, but Fred clapped her hand over his mouth. She recognized a few of the words and if she were right, Giles and his friend would have no time to answer question.  
  
Slowly a formation began to take shape on the bed, a shape that was human, but not entirely like the shape that had been there before. Fred wondered for one horrible moment if something had gone wrong, but then more of the shape emerged and she sighed, settling back against the wall happily.  
  
Angel's jaw almost dropped as he saw the woman appear, unconscious on the bed. She was even covered in the bruises that Wesley had had.  
  
Ethan stepped back and stared critically. "Very good. Lovely idea, Ripper; quite astounding. And considering how you hated that spell even back in the day! Quite remarkable."  
  
"Yes, well," Giles said, throwing the woman a look of distaste, "You don't sell people to the highest bidder unless you know what you're selling them into."  
  
"Hey," Fred said, "You're right! It's the whole 'well, then; let's see how you like it' trick!"  
  
"If you want to put it that way," Giles grinned. "Now to find Wesley."  
  
"Don' tell me you've lost him," Gunn said suspiciously. "Cause that'll be hilarious!"  
  
"No, he should be outside right now," Ethan pointed out. "Ripper, I think you've missed one vital problem- paperwork! Hospitals abound in them as we all know and perhaps you'll permit me to do something about that, hmmm?"  
  
"All right; if you must. But not the emergencies or anything too important," Giles sighed.  
  
Ethan nodded happily and smirked, closing his eyes and calling to Janus. The appropriate measures of supplication were made and then Ethan opened his eyes in satisfaction. "All finished," he announced glibly.  
  
They walked out to find Wesley standing still, still staring gaunt-faced into the distance. He was sweating; a fine white powder was dripping slowly out of the needle tracks in his arm. The sleeve was rolled up and the vein stood prominent and black against the straining limb held rigidly straight.  
  
"Oh." Giles said blankly, looking at him.  
  
Wesley heard that but kept going; the poison was leaving; his body didn't hurt any more. Finally there was only blood flowing from the needle marks and he stopped, the blind look fading and his body slumping. He might have fallen over if Gunn hadn't pushed him into a plastic seat a few steps away.  
  
"What the hell was that?" the African American demanded.  
  
"I had to get rid of it," Wesley explained in exhaustion, "it was killing me. I couldn't live with the pain of having it and needing more. I had to. I'm sorry, I didn't want to do that but please! It was necessary!"  
  
"What's he talking about?" Angel asked, frowning at two grim-faced Englishmen.  
  
"This explains it," Giles muttered, eyes stormy.  
  
"Explains what?" Angel growled.  
  
"He's a mystic," Ethan answered, "He has the potential to be a sorcerer but he's suppressed his natural powers to point where he himself can almost forget he has them. Am I right?"  
  
"God, yes," Wesley shuddered, "I tried so hard, I swear it! I didn't want to be like this!"  
  
Giles walked to the man. He went down on his haunches, another old trick of Ripper's, and looked at the man's drawn face. "Is that what they always told you? Did you ever just try to cast; on your own, I mean?"  
  
Wesley nodded miserably.  
  
"Ah. I see. The belt, then. And the darkened room where you can neither eat or sleep, where all you know are your worst nightmares fed to you through your own mind. Is that what they did to you? And when you came out of that room as a gibbering idiot, they told you that this was what magic did to people?"  
  
Wesley nodded again miserably.  
  
"Who the fuck would do something like that?" Gunn hissed, fists clenching. Even Fred was flexing her claws and gnashing her teeth.  
  
"The Watcher's Council, that's who," Ethan said. "This is part of why Ripper here left. They were coming down on him like a ton of bricks. Thing was, he ran off with me before they could break him. That is what they would have made him," Ethan said grimly, pointing to Wesley rocking himself in the chair.  
  
"Oh, just take your chaotic inamorata and leave," Wesley said suddenly, "Just leave me to fucking die, for God's sake!"  
  
Giles and Ethan looked at each other in confusion.  
  
"Inamorata?" Ethan asked.  
  
They looked at Wesley again. This time the thin cheeks were flushed and the eyes were burning feverishly bright. There was no more trace of insanity or trauma left. He was clear-headed and angry.  
  
"I said, leave," he ground out, standing up.  
  
Giles pushed him back down and laughed in his face. "Did you really think Ethan Rayne and I were lovers?" he gurgled.  
  
"Oh, priceless," Ethan gasped with equal merriment. "Considering we were never like that! No matter what they said!"  
  
"But the Council records maintained that you were," Wesley frowned. He was sure he had read it there, in black print on a white page.  
  
Giles shook his head. "I wanted back into the Council. I needed a plausible excuse apart from the youthful rebellion scenario. So I blamed Ethan for seducing me to the dark side. I never ever said we were lovers, though."  
  
"But that's what everyone thought," Wesley stammered.  
  
Ethan grinned and shook his head. "Giles likes soft women with big dewy eyes. I'm more likely to bite his nose off his face than stare into his eyes 'dewily'. And frankly, I can honestly say that Ripper is not my type."  
  
Wesley sank back. "But I still used magic and we all know where that can lead you. I craved it so badly, back then. I used to do a few small tricks, just to ease it. But I'd get caught! Then someone gave me cocaine and I was hooked. It took everything away. I can't get you to understand what I mean," he groaned.  
  
"I was addicted to violence when I was young. And that was when I was dabbling in black magic," Giles pointed out, "In Sunnydale I began a growing addiction to drink to compensate for the lack of direction in my life, a direction I might have found if I had been practicing the craft I was born to use. Magic depends on how you use it."  
  
Interestingly it was Fred who broke the happy reunion. "Fellas, hate to break this up, but sun rise in an hour and Angel has to get back home. And we should probably go out for breakfast because, personally, I'm starving!" she declared.  
  
"Oh, I know this fabulous little café," Ethan said, walking her out immediately.  
  
"I think I'll stay for a while, if that's all right," Giles said casually to Angel, "I think I'd like to see how things work over here before I head to New York."  
  
Angel smiled, Wesley smiled and all three decided self-consciously that perhaps they should get off the topic. They walked out silently, Wesley relishing the slow feeling of normalcy that was creeping through him.  
  
Giles stopped and turned around suddenly. "You don't really think I'm capable of, you know, with Ethan; do you?" He looked so woebegone that Wesley couldn't stop laughing the whole way to the car. 


End file.
